


As though by a mother

by Isidar_Mithrim



Series: Featuring: Harry Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, Gen, Graphic Description, Harry and Ginny Discord's Prompt Posse, Missing Scene, Nightmares, Prompt Posse #5, Reference to death and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/pseuds/Isidar_Mithrim
Summary: Voldemort is back, and Harry keeps revisiting the graveyard in his nightmares.{Written for the prompt posse: “Do you have any dreams that recur?  Why do you think you continue to have that dream?”}
Series: Featuring: Harry Potter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857754
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	As though by a mother

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt Posse #5 by the Harry and Ginny Discord – thanks for the inspiration and the support, and an ever bigger thanks to Dusk (TheDistantDusk) for betaing ^^

Harry felt uneven earth under the soles of his shoes. He walked in the dark, only the stars lighting the path, creating odd reflections against the cold metal of the Triwizard Cup. Far away, he glimpsed a fire, its flames dancing around something massive and pitch black, and then, unexpectedly, sparks erupted from what Harry could now see was the largest cauldron he had ever laid eyes upon. When the sparks extinguished, a surge of steam billowed from the cauldron, and he was surrounded by white vapor. It was like being immersed in a cloud: Harry couldn't see anything until the dark outline of a man appeared through the mist. He was tall and skeletally thin, with a face was paler than a skull, wide scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake’s.

And then Voldemort was before him, a dark vest covering his slim body, his white, bare feet almost shining in the darkness of the night. 

“Bow to death, Harry... It might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died...”

No, no, he didn’t want to bow, he didn’t want to die, he wanted to run, he wanted it to be over, but he couldn’t move or speak or look away.

Voldemort walked towards him with slow, steady steps, his scarlet eyes narrowed in contempt, his voice low and menacing. “Bow, Harry, or I will kill him.”

He raised a long, white finger, pointing it into the distance.

Harry looked that way, and there he was, standing, alive, the Triwizard Cup held in his hands.

“Save me,” pleaded Cedric. “Bring me back to my parents.”

“Bow, Harry, or I’ll kill the spare, before killing you.” 

Harry whirled towards Voldemort just in time to see his finger morphing into a wand, its wood gold and red as a phoenix’s feather.

“No! No, he wasn’t supposed to be here! Don’t kill Cedric!” begged Harry, dropping to his knees and prostrating before Voldemort, tears running down his cheeks. “Please, don’t kill him.”

“He is already dead, boy.”

And even before looking, even before raising his forehead from the cold grass, Harry knew that Cedric’s lifeless body lay beside him.

He was spread-eagled on the ground, his expression blank, his mouth half-open, and all of a sudden a wretched smell permeated the air. Cedric’s skin fell, and worms began crawling out of his mouth his ears his flesh. Harry leapt back, a surge of horrifying dread creeping up his throat.

Then Cedric’s lips moved, and Harry’s stomach clenched, a sour taste spreading in his mouth. “Bring my body to my parents, Harry. You can’t leave me here like this.”

“Duel, Harry. Fight like a man.”

“But ’e is just a little boy,” said Fleur, tossing her silvery hair. “’E is too young to compete.”

And she was right, wasn’t she? She had always been. He wasn’t a man. He was just a boy, and he didn’t want to fight anymore. He just wanted his parents, he wanted to be squeezed in his mother’s arms, but first he had to bring Cedric back, because he wanted his parents too, and it was all Harry’s fault. 

He had to fix it. 

He had to save him.

Harry darted towards the putrescent body and Voldemort chased after him, dozens of masked Death Eaters in hot pursuit. Flashes of green light hit the headstones around him, and Cedric and the Cup were in front of him, but they weren’t getting closer, they never got closer, they moved further and further and his leg hurt and Voldemort was behind him and he didn’t want to die too, and so he pleaded, pleaded for Mum and Dad to help him, and finally they were there, standing near Cedric’s corpse, and a bewildered wave of relief washed over him.

“Here! Here, come and help me, Dad!” yelled Harry, waving his arms frantically so they could see him. “Mum, come and help me! He’s killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He’s going to kill me!”

He kept shouting, but they just stared at him with empty and glossy eyes, as dead as Cedric was, and Harry ran, his eyes burning with tears, curses flying above his head, and then his leg gave out, and he fell, fell, fell.

He woke up with a start, his chest rising and falling quickly to make up for the lack of air, his limbs tangled in the dampened sheets.

Clenching his fists, Harry forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He shut his eyelids to focus, but the disturbing image of Cedric’s rotten body flickered into the darkness, bringing a wave of nausea with it, and Harry hastily fixed his gaze on the blurry shape of Hedwig’s empty cage. 

It was hard to breathe properly against the lump in his throat. The details of the dream were already fading away, but the horror of it still pulsed forcefully through his veins. It was mortifying how long the fear lingered in his body, how desperately his dream-self had pleaded for his parents’ help, how vulnerable he had felt despite lying in his fucking bed the whole time, miles and days away from that graveyard that kept harassing his mind. 

A burning sensation prickled at the corners of his eyes, and Harry pushed the heel of his hands against them, gripping the soggy strands of hair that fell on his forehead.

He leant against the headboard, despising himself for that foolish weakness, for that visceral need to cry like a baby because of a stupid dream, for the yearn to let those tears run freely. He wished Sirius could be there, but at the same time he hated the idea that he’d see him like this.

After a while, when his breath had become regular again, a chill ran down his spine. His pyjamas were so soaked in sweat that they felt glued to his skin, and Harry knew he should change, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up. Eventually, he crawled back under the blankets, pulling his knees up to his chest. He wrapped both arms around his body, and for a brief moment, he let himself imagine that Mrs Weasley was there, holding him in her arms as she had done in the infirmary, as though by a mother.

For an even briefer moment, he let himself imagine that those where _his_ mother’s arms, then he turned his face, and muffled his sobs into the pillow.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write something about that hug – one of my favorite scenes of the saga – and even though I hadn't imagined it’d be something so angsty, when the idea struck I couldn’t help writing it.
> 
> As always, I’m happy to hear any feedback, suggestion, correction about the story, opinion about headcanons and so on ^^  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://isidar-mithrim.tumblr.com).  
>  **Disclaimer** : I freely quoted lines from Chapter 32 and 34 of ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ (‘Flesh, Blood and Bone’ and ‘Priori Incantatem’), and from Chapter 1 of ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’ (‘Dudley Demented’).


End file.
